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Lance of Longinus
The Lance of Longinus, also referred to as the Spear of Destiny and Sleá Bua and more properly as Fateweaver, is a weapon forged by the True Fae and given to multiple figures throughout history, including Lugh and Longinus. Details regarding the weapon are taken from Armory Reloaded (World of Darkness). Description The shape Fateweaver takes is dependent on the desires of its owner. In ancient times the weapon most commonly took on the shape of a spear (owing, perhaps, to its origin), but was it also sword, knife and bow. In the modern era, Fateweaver most frequently takes the shape of a gun, often a rifle with a bayonet mount, though the odd wielder still finds the weapon most appealing in blade form. Regardless of the form it takes, Fateweaver always appears pitted, rusty and ill-maintained. The weapon is coated with blood stains that prove impossible to eliminate by any means and, when combined with the rust, give the weapon a slightly reddish tinge. Although Fateweaver might look like a piece of junk, it always functions flawlessly, never jamming, bending or twisting in the hands of its owner. Moderate levels of care can shine or polish away the worst of the rust, allowing the weapon to pass muster when worn during inspections or in dress uniform. Only daily maintenance can keep the weapon from accumulating a new layer of rust, seemingly overnight. The apparent shoddiness of Fateweaver is (partially) a test to determine the worthiness of a wielder. Only a warrior that is truly dedicated to a cause or creed would be bothered to pick up the weapon and Fateweaver respects determination above all. History In the days before cold-wrought iron and the oppressive Consensus of Reason drove them from mortal lands, the Fae walked among humans dispensing miracles and curses as it pleased them. Humans were a source of fascination for these ancient fairy creatures. They drank in the power of human emotions and wondered at the mortal’s ability for single-mindedness; a concept wholly alien to the Fair Folk. Occasionally, a mortal, either foolish or brave, would seek out them and beg for assistance. One such seeker was a man named Lugh. Lugh came before the Fae and asked them to give him the power to strike down his grandfather, named Balor; an evil king that ruled the land with a tyrant’s cruelty. Balor had but a single eye and all men feared its gaze. It was said that Balor had traded his other eye to dark gods for the power to kill a man, or indeed whole armies, with a glance. Even Balor’s kin weren’t spared from his wickedness and when Lugh’s mother gave birth to triplets, Balor wrapped them in a sheet and cast them into the sea. Only Lugh survived, washed up on the shore half-dead, to be raised by foster parents who related to him the story of his birth. Amused by his tale, the Fae agreed to help Lugh. They reached into the dreams and ancestral memories of mankind and, with Fate as their anvil and Destiny as their hammer, forged the mighty spear Sleá Bua (roughly pronounced SLEH-ah BUH-ah) from the ephemera. Some tales insist the Fae folded the memory of the first murderer, Cain, into the weapon or that they used the very rock wielded by Cain to sharpen the edges of the spearhead. If true this might explain the appearance of the weapon which, even newly forged, looked pitted and blood-stained. In exchange for their favor, the Fair Folk made Lugh swear an oath to return to them after seven years had passed and enter into their service. When Lugh returned with Sleá Bua in hand, the enemies of Balor were emboldened by Lugh’s tale and raised an army to attack the king. Lugh’s army and the army of the king met in battle on the plains. The men of Lugh’s army were so desperate to overthrow Balor that they fought with a fury that took the king’s army by surprise, driving them back. Fearing the battle would be lost, Balor turned his baleful eye on the rebels, slaying hundreds with a glance. Feeling the time of his destiny upon him, Lugh hefted the spear and threw it, aiming for Balor’s eye. The mighty weapon pierced the tyrant’s head, exiting through his skull with the eye caught on its tip. As Balor fell to the ground, the eye stared unblinkingly at Balor’s army from the spear tip, killing them in droves. The freed men praised Lugh calling him Lugh Lamhfada, Lugh of the Long Arm and asked him to be their king, but Lugh refused knowing his future was not his own. After seven years had passed Lugh returned to the Fae as he had promised, leaving Sleá Bua with his child, Cúchulainn. After Cúchulainn, Sleá Bua passed down through the centuries, always leading its wielder to a might fate. Eventually the name Sleá Bua was forgotten, the spear known only as Fateweaver. Everywhere the spear traveled legends sprang up around the one who wielded it, both heroic tales and villainous deeds - fate, after all, serves no master. When the Fae departed from mortal lands, the magic they bound into the spear began to respond to the desires of the one who carried it. Each wielder viewed the spear differently and it began to mold itself to match the dreams of its owner. A hero that sought a sword would find a pitted blade that fit his hand like he was born to carry it. An assassin would find a dagger whose lethalness belied it’s outwardly humble form. Eventually the spear ended up in the hands of a Roman soldier stationed in Jerusalem. His name was Longinus. Longinus found the weapon in the burial mound of a Germanic king. Sensing his approach, Fateweaver transformed itself into a spear with the Imperial eagle as its cross hilt. Assuming the weapon had been stolen from the body of a dead Roman, Longinus claimed it and began to carry it with him as his weapon of choice. Fateweaver served Longinus well in desert skirmishes with the fanatical opponents to Roman rule, always honing in on gaps in armor and refusing to become lodged in the enemies he dispatched. He began to think of the weapon as his good luck charm and rarely allowed it out of his sight, even when visiting with whores. He frequently slept with it tucked under one arm. Longinus heard about the arrest of the so-called King of the Jews while out on patrol. The name of the man, Jesus of Nazareth, clamored in his ears like the ringing of a bell and Longinus could sense his destiny approaching. Longinus watched as history was made. He saw Pilate wash his hands of the problem of Jesus, he watched as the man was beaten, he watched as the other soldiers taunted the purportedly holy man. He watched Jesus struggle under the weight of the cross, heard the Nazarene refuse the drugged wine that would ease his pain and witnessed the crucifix being lofted erect on the rocky, arid hill of Golgotha. Longinus watched and waited, knowing his destiny was nigh. When the soldiers drew lots to decide which of them would have the onerous task of dealing with the remains of the crucified men, Longinus wasn’t remotely surprised when his name was called. It was a hot, dusty day and the work wasn’t easy or pleasant. When Longinus came at last to the body of Jesus he was weary, dirty and thirsty and had almost forgotten about the prescience of fate that he’d had when he first heard the name Jesus of Nazareth. Before plunging Fateweaver into the side of the body to ensure the man was dead, Longinus wished out loud for a cool drink of water. The spear thudded into dead flesh and, to Longinus’ surprise, a spout of something cold that looked almost, but not quite, like water gushed from the wound. Without thinking, Longinus sucked the wetness from his hands. In the aftermath of that moment, stories differ on what exactly happened next. Some legends say that even that small taste of the blood of Christ cursed Longinus with the desire to drink the blood of humans, some tales say he was cursed with eternal life, left to wander the earth until Christ returns to forgive him and a rare few stories say that Longinus was the first man to take communion, drinking of the blood of Christ and thus forgiven for his crimes. Whatever the truth might be, Fateweaver, which would shortly become known as the Spear of Destiny, passed from his hands, having drawn the man to his fate.